


Dough-ohs

by totallyrandom



Series: Stiles is Trans, Dude [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creeper Derek Hale, Fluff, Getting Together, High School Student Stiles Stilinski, Insomnia, It's fluffier than it sounds, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek, Stiles is 18, cursing, the sheriff calls everyone son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: Stiles is sitting at the table with a bowl, an open box of Kashi Go Lean, and a fork—no milk—when the Sheriff walks in....Stiles frowns at him and pulls the phone out of his penguin pjs pocket. He types:need to sleep with u to keep dad safe come and get meThe phone rings. “Stiles. What the hell!”“I’m tired but dad’s here.”“And?”“Come pick me up.”“Why?”“Put me to sleep.”The Sheriff rolls his eyes and grabs the phone. “Who is this?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the anon prompt:  
>  _For trans Stiles. What if Stiles has a bad mental health week and Derek or Scott step in to help. Cause it's Stiles and he's gonna try to do tasks but it just gets worse._

Stiles wakes screaming. Again. For the fourth night in a row. And he only fell asleep an hour ago. PLUS he has a test today. 

Of course it fucking has to be in his hardest class—because why would this hellmouth ever cut him a break and let it be a subject he at least can bullshit? Of-fucking-course.

He’s sitting at the table with a bowl, an open box of Kashi Go Lean, and a fork—no milk—when the Sheriff walks in.

“You ok there, son?”

Stiles blinks bloodshot eyes at him and manages half a nod before tipping his head forward onto the table with a groan. 

His dad pats his shoulder on the way to the fridge to pull out the milk and huffs as he replaces Stiles’s fork with a spoon. “C’mon. Breakfast might not make it better, but it probably won’t make it worse.”

Stiles takes a bite and chews halfheartedly. He’s three spoonsful in before he registers what he’s eating. “Ugh.”

“Pretty awful, huh?”

“You’ve really been letting me make you eat this for a year? Or have you been dumping it and sneaking dough … dough … rings? dough-ohs?” Stiles squints, frustrated at himself.

“You mean donuts?”

Stiles points at him. “That. Don’t. You can’t … don’t. Bad.”

The Sheriff squeezes his shoulder. “I promise: I have no more than one donut a month.”

“A month?”

“Ok, maybe one a week. It’s fine. Stop worrying about me. I know you’ve been logging in and checking my medical records. So you know my screenings have been good for the last 6 months.”

Stiles gives him a lopsided grin and takes another bite of cereal before spitting it back into the bowl. The Sheriff takes it away and replaces it with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

“Thanks, pops. You’re the best.”

“How about I call in sick for you today and you go back to bed, kid?”

“I have a test … with numbers.”

“A math test.”

Stiles nods morosely.

“I’m not sure you could add 57 and 143 right now. Go to bed. Math will still be there after we both sleep.”

Stiles doesn’t even pretend to try to come up with the sum. He just frowns. “Can’t. I’d keep you up.”

“It’s ok. You need it more than I do.”

Stiles shakes his head furiously before grabbing at his head, dizzy. “You can’t go on duty tired! Too dangerous!” 

“Stiles, I’m the adult here. Just … just do what I ask for once. Trust me?”

Stiles frowns at him and pulls the phone out of his penguin pjs pocket. He types: _need to sleep with u to keep dad safe come and get me_

The phone rings. “Stiles. What the hell!”

“I’m tired but dad’s here.”

“And?”

“Come pick me up.”

“Why?”

“Put me to sleep.”

The Sheriff rolls his eyes and grabs the phone. “Who is this?”

“Who are you.”

“Sheriff Stilinski. Who are you?” There’s no response, so he checks the phone. The Big D? He looks over to find Stiles snoring quietly, face planted on the table. D? “Is this Danny?” There’s still no answer. “Who is this?!”

The caller clears their throat. “Derek. … Sir.”

“Hale? Why are you calling my son at 3 am?”

“He texted … ”

The Sheriff holds the phone out at arm’s length and squints at it to read. “Ah hell. He’s had insomnia for days and nightmares too when he does get to sleep. He’s even forgetting words now. And he just tried to eat dry cereal with a fork.” Derek is quiet on the other end. The Sheriff sighs. “I’ve got a shift this afternoon and he’s worried he’ll keep me up. Don’t worry about it. We’re fine.”

“I … I could … He can sleep here if that helps.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The Sheriff pauses to try to be more polite. “He’s already asleep at the kitchen table, anyway.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.” The Sheriff hangs up first and runs a hand down his son’s back, noticing how knobby his back feels. He’s clearly not been eating enough. With a quiet sigh, he decides to leave Stiles sleeping rather than try to usher him upstairs. He leaves a message on the high school’s voicemail and sits in the living room for another half hour before heading back to bed. He’s relieved when Stiles doesn’t wake.


	2. Chapter 2

When the Sheriff gets up at 11, Stiles’s room is still empty. He doesn’t envy his son for the monster crick he’ll have in his neck when he wakes up. 

He lollygags about twenty minutes to shower, shave, and dress, but he’s just too hungry to wait longer. So he tiptoes down the stairs and peeks into the kitchen, hoping he can sneak a snack at least without waking his kid. But the kitchen’s empty. The couch too.

He checks upstairs again. Stiles’s backpack isn’t in his room, but the Jeep is still outside, so he figures someone must have picked him up for school. Hopefully the math grade won’t knock him out of competition for salutatorian. He needs that scholarship or they won’t be able to afford Brown. And they both have their hearts set on Stiles going to an East Coast school, far away from Beacon Hills.

He texts Stiles to check in but gets no answer, so he tries Scott. Scott texts back saying Stiles never showed up for school and he has to shut off his phone for the test. The Sheriff doesn’t have Derek’s number in his phone and worries how it would look to call the station to ask for it. He doesn’t want to throw unnecessary suspicion on a guy who’s still pretty suspicious even though his arrest record is undeserved.

He throws together a sandwich and hurries out the door, figuring it’s less shady to head in early and dig up the number himself. At the last minute, though, he veers toward Derek’s last-known address. 

The building isn’t impressive, and he’ll definitely be talking to Stiles about this if it turns out he’s here. Just before his first knock lands, Derek slides open the door quietly, finger to his lips. He steps out and ushers the Sheriff quietly down the hall.

The Sheriff crosses his arms and pins Derek with a withering look. “Did you kidnap my son while I was asleep?”

Derek startles, mouth gaping for a second before he finds his words. “He called me.”

The Sheriff waits for the rest of the explanation, shaking his head when it appears Derek thinks that was a sufficient answer. “Why?”

“Another nightmare.”

“And no one thought to leave me a message? Or Scott?”

“I’m not used to … ”

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for the end of that thought.

“I didn’t think about someone noticing.”

The Sheriff’s startles at that.

“No. That’s not what … ” Derek growls. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about having to check in. People worrying where someone else is.”

“Ah, hell.” The Sheriff scrubs a palm down the side of his face and blows out a breath. “Thank you, I guess? Anyway, I can just take him home now, since I’m headed into work anyway, he won’t bother anyone if he yells in his sleep while I’m on duty.”

Derek frowns. “Are you sure? He’s only been asleep 5 hours.”

“5 hours. Really? 5 hours straight?”

Derek blushes. The Sheriff clears his throat and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I can hear the nightmares start. I … interrupt them.”

“You interrupt the nightmares without waking him up. … You’ve been watching him sleep for 5 hours? What, just sitting there? watching?”

Derek shrugs and holds up his book.

The Sheriff scrubs both hands through his hair and sighs, weighing the risks of leaving his son to catch up on much-needed sleep in the run-down apartment of a much older ex-murder-suspect against the harm of waking Stiles now and dropping him at home to deal with his nightmares alone.

Derek offers no input, appearing indifferent to the decision. But the Sheriff reminds himself that Derek called right away when Stiles texted in the middle of the night. And picked Stiles up at dawn to offer his home—such as it is—as a safe haven. And actively guarded him against nightmares. A span of 5 hours of sleep is a miracle these days. And if Stiles could actually spend the rest of the day catching up on all that lost sleep …

All of a sudden, a quote from _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_ pops into the Sheriff’s head: “I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way.”[1] He swallows a groan and looks Derek in the eye when he says, “Thank you. I’m sure Scott can come drive him home after school.”

“Ok. Stiles is welcome here anytime, sir. … With your permission.” 

The Sheriff furrows his brow but makes himself nod politely. Derek nods back and walks back to his door. The Sheriff peeks his head inside for a moment to reassure himself that Stiles is really there and really sleeping. It’s not like this is the weirdest or most dangerous situation Stiles has been in over the past couple years. And he’s 18 already and off to college thousands of miles away in the fall. He supposes he has to trust his son’s judgment on this, even if he doesn’t want to.

He tells himself it’ll be fine. Probably. He texts Scott anyway and heads over to the station, where work can distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096438/>


	3. Chapter 3

Derek is almost finished with _The Two Towers_ when Stiles starts to gently wake up, mumbling nonsense syllables that eventually turn into recognizable words.

“Mmmpizza,” he mumbles, sniffing the air. “Pizza? Dad, that better not be pizza!” He bolts upright, eyes frantically searching the room before he lets out a relieved breath. “Derek? You here, dude?”

“Kitchen. How many slices you want?”

“All of them.”

Derek laughs and brings out a lukewarm slice on a paper plate.

Stiles frowns at him. “This is one. One! Why would you even ask me if there’s only one left? … Dude. I can’t believe you ordered a pizza and just saved me one piece! Fucking wolves.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “The others are warming up. Figured you wouldn’t wait that long.”

Stiles can’t reply because his mouth is jammed with almost the entire slice, but he does his best to convey gratitude with his eyes.

Derek stifles a smile. “Feel better?”

Stiles considers the question while he chews but nods decisively as he shoves the last bit of crust into his mouth.

The toaster oven dings and Derek takes the empty plate back to the kitchen, returning with 2 more slices, a roll of paper towels, and water in a chipped mug. It’s the only cup Derek lets him use, since Stiles was the one who chipped it in the first place.

Stiles smiles at him and starts on another slice, burning the roof of his mouth. “Fuck! Ow. Fuck. That’s not warmed, Derek; it’s molten.”

“Then don't eat it yet.”

Stiles hugs the plate protectively, getting grease all over his shirt and gasping as it burns his chest. Derek tugs the plate away and sets it on the table. He dips a paper towel into the mug and holds it out to Stiles.

Stiles just frowns down at it. “Yeah, I don’t think rubbing a little water on the stain is any match for pizza grease.”

Derek huffs and takes it back, rounding the table to yank the shirt off Stiles and slap the cold paper towel onto the red mark blooming just below Stiles’s collarbone.

He marches off to the kitchen silently as Stiles gapes. Derek runs cold water over the stain and drips dish soap on it, scrubbing gently until it looks like the grease is mostly gone from the shirt. He figures it should be fine after a real wash and hangs it over a chair to go back and check on Stiles.

He finds Stiles hunched forward, arms curled protectively over his chest, only sort-of managing to hold the compress to his burn. Stiles seems to be focused elsewhere, the burn and the pizza crust hanging from his mouth both forgotten.

“Better?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says weakly in his direction, eyes unfocused. “Um, thanks. For the food. … And the first aid. … And the ride. And the couch. And, like, all of that. Uh, thanks.”

“It’s fine.”

Stiles hangs his head, cheeks aflame. “Can I, um, borrow a shirt?” He swallows hard. “I don’t really go for the whole tank top look.” The chuckle is forced. “Because, you know, what human could compete with those wolfy muscles and all?”

Derek’s breath catches at the wave of misery pouring off Stiles. As he goes to find something for Stiles to wear home, he curses himself silently for the invasion of privacy.

“Here. Sorry. I shouldn’t have just … I’m sorry about … ”

Stiles turns away to put on the shirt but stays hunched over even afterward.

“Stiles, I … ”

“It’s fine,” Stiles chokes out. “It’s … ”

Derek clears his throat. “Scott should be here soon.”

“What? What time is … ” Stiles looks at his phone, startled out of his brooding. “Holy shit. I slept forever. … I … Holy fuck! I slept! Thank fuck,” he mumbles. He frowns down at his texts. “Crap. I thought I texted dad before I passed out? He must not have noticed I was gone before he left for work.”

“… He came by earlier.”

“He what? Here? But you’re still alive! … And he didn’t wake me to drag me out of your den of iniquity! That doesn’t make … How mad is he?”

Derek ignores the insults to his apartment and his character. “You needed the sleep.”

“Understatement, dude.”

“I can take you home now if you don’t want to wait for Scott.”

Stiles shrugs, chewing on his lip and playing with the string of his pants.

“What.”

“I … It’s just … About … ” He looks down at his chest. “Sorry for freaking out.”

Derek grunts, “Sorry for … ”

“Tearing my clothes off in a disappointingly non-sexy way?”

Derek rolls his eyes and picks up his book.

“Is that, uh, book any good?”

Derek shrugs.

“Got anything else good to read here? I don’t feel like doing homework and I could use a distraction right now. And it’s Friday anyway, so homework can fuck off until at least Sunday morning, right?”

Derek rolls his eyes again but doesn’t look up from the page.

“Hey, is there any more pizza left?”

Derek just tips his head toward the kitchen and continues reading. When he closes the book, he sees Stiles passed out face-down on the couch, drooling. It dawns on him that the apartment is going to smell like Stiles for days. He sighs and gets up to swap out his book for _The Return of the King_.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles sleeps at home over the weekend. The sleep itself is hard to come by and frequently interrupted, but over two days as a complete sloth he manages to patch together enough that he can think straight enough to study. And he feels pretty confident walking in to take the makeup math test over lunch on Monday. Things deteriorate over the course of the school week, though.

He’s still having trouble falling asleep and staying asleep and there’s just not enough time in the day during the week to make up for it, even if he crashes right after practice. Since he’s not sleeping anyway, he studies when he can—easier on Mondays and Tuesdays than by the end of the week.

By Wednesday, he’s haphazardly updating the beastiary at midnight, which devolves on Thursday to reading about obscure mythical creatures on Wikipedia at 3 am and pestering Derek with texts asking things like whether ifrits exist. And redcaps. And incubi. And hippogriffs.

By the time his alarm goes off Friday morning, he’s running on fumes. He manages to keep himself awake in class by poking at his palm with a safety pin under the desk—not enough to even break the skin but enough to jolt him into adequate consciousness. Still, it’s maybe not the healthiest coping mechanism. But if he misses much more school he won’t graduate on time, much less place high enough in the class to get some real money for college.

Scott drives him home in the Jeep after lacrosse, which Stiles only survives by convincing Coach he can’t run on his entirely fake sprained ankle. He feels bad about shirking his athletic duties or whatever, but the team seems to be doing better lately without him anyway. It’s not fun to discover his best contribution to the team may be his absence, but he’s mostly too tired to really give a shit.

He collapses on the couch, so exhausted that it’s after 9 pm when he jerks awake, throat sore. The Sheriff frowns at him from his recliner.

“Heeeeey, daddy-o. Sorry I didn’t get around to making dinner.” He forces a grin.

“I am an adult, Stiles. I’m just fine making my own meals.” The Sheriff tries to hide his concern until Stiles is ready to talk. “There’s leftover stir fry in the fridge if you want. Full of vegetables.”

“Nah. Not really hungry right now,” he says, staring blankly at his hands.

“How’d that math test turn out?”

Stiles is a little slow to turn his head and has to blink a few times before the question sinks in. “Oh, yeah, good. No worries. I mean, salutatorian won’t be happening but it should still be good enough to get decent a scholarship for a state school.”

The Sheriff frowns at how easily Stiles seems to give up on the idea of going where he really wants, but he doesn’t push it right now. As long as the state school is more than 4 hours from Beacon Hills, he figures it’ll probably be enough to keep Stiles from coming home most weekends. He takes calming breaths and changes the subject—regaling Stiles with pointless stories from the precinct until Stiles’s eyelids start to droop and the Sheriff can nudge him toward bed.

Saturday morning, Scott swings through Stiles’s window to find him sprawled sideways across the bed with his bleary eyes firmly affixed on a disintegrating copy of _The Hobbit_.

“Dude! I love that movie!”

Stiles just blinks up at him then back at the book before dropping it on the bed.“Wassup?”

“So, Derek says there’s something eating bunnies in the Preserve and leaving these weird stacked piles of their bones behind. Do you think you can try to figure out what it is?”

Stiles stares in Scott’s direction for few seconds. “Sure, yeah. I’ll text you when I figure it out.”

“Ok, I gotta go. Meeting Allison for breakfast. … I mean second breakfast!”

Scott’s already out the window before Stiles realizes he just made a _Lord of the Rings_ reference.

After two hours, Stiles hasn’t made any progress at all. He texts Derek to tell him he’ll try to find something after lunch. He zones out, though, and the next thing he knows, Derek is crawling through his window with what smells like burgers and fries.

“Thanks, man! I was just about to go make a sad, sad pb sandwich. I think we only have one piece of bread and we’re out of jelly entirely. And I can’t find anything about the rabbit skeleton army situation.”

“Stiles, you texted me about stopping to make dinner 45 minutes ago.”

“What?”

“I came by and you were just staring at your phone.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Just eat.”

Stiles absentmindedly shoves some fries in his mouth before zoning out again.

Derek nudges him. “Chew before you choke.”

Stiles makes his way through all the fries until he’s frowning at the empty container.

“Don’t pout. Eat the burger.”

“Oh! Burger!” Stiles takes a huge bite and shoots Derek a messy grin.

Derek shakes his head and hands him a napkin. “Finish that and then lie down. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Stiles scowls but he can’t argue with the burger; it’s really damn good. He turns to thank Derek when he’s done, but he’s already gone. He shrugs and goes back to poring over the digitized bestiary on his laptop but has no luck finding anything particular to rabbits or special bone piles. He’s frowning at the screen when Derek comes up the stairs carrying a Coke and a glass of water.

“You’re not in bed,” Derek scowls at him.

“Huh?”

“You were supposed to nap. You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks, Derek. Not all of us are destined for the cover of _GQ_. You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“That’s not what I meant, idiot. You need to sleep. You can’t keep going like this.”

“I’m tryyyyyyyying, dude.”

Derek slams the laptop closed. “You’re not. You’re just screwing around.”

“What?! Fuck you! I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for the bunny killings yet, but I’m trying! I am!”

“I know. But that’s not your job. Scott is supposed to be working on it with Allison. He wasn’t supposed to bother you.”

“That’s dumb, Derek.”

Derek huffs at him.

“Dude, it is. Scott’s shit at this, even when he’s not distracted with all that lovey, heart-eyes shit. Why didn’t you just come to me first?”

Derek just scowls at him.

“Seriously, Derek! Haven’t we established by now that I’m the figure-shit-out guy on this team?”

“Not when you’re not sleeping. Not when you’re falling asleep in class.”

“Did Scott tell you that? What a narc.”

“Stiles. Just sleep. I’ll go through the files, ok?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, but don’t poke around. A man’s laptop is sacred.”

“Your porn folder is safe with me.”

Stiles’s eyes go wide for a second before he throws himself face-first onto the bed. When Stiles wakes up, there’s a post-it on the laptop saying they’re still not sure what it’s called, but Boyd got a photo of it and Erica killed it, so it doesn’t matter anymore.

When he gets downstairs, his dad is at the table eating a double-decker BLT. “Thanks for going grocery shopping, kid. Glad you got a nap in after.”

“Uh … Oh. Thank Derek?”

“What?”

Stiles waves at his dad’s plate and toward the fridge. “Derek.”

“Oh,” the Sheriff says, then just shakes his head and then scarfs down the rest of the burger before Stiles remembers to take it away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

“Derek,” the Sheriff hisses up at the roof outside Stiles’s room. “Get your ass down here.”

Derek groans and drops down next to him.

“What the … ? Never mind. What the hell were you doing on my roof? Mrs. Wilkins called to report a burglar breaking into the top floor of my house! Do you have a thing for watching Stiles sleep after all?”

“I’m not watching.”

The Sheriff just stares at him. And stares some more. Then he hears Stiles whimpering through the open window.

“How long has he been asleep?”

“3 hours.”

The Sheriff hangs his head for a second before the whimpering gets louder.

Derek just stands there looking at the Sheriff until he nods, then hops up and through the window to nudge Stiles just enough to bump him out of the nightmare before jumping back down.

“Sorry,” Derek tells him quietly.

“Why are you doing this?”

“He needs to sleep.”

“I know that,” the Sheriff snaps. “Why are _you_ doing this?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything.

“Why do you care if Stiles sleeps or not?”

“Because it’s my fault he can't.”

“Hell, kid, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m not a kid,” Derek mumbles.

“Don’t I know it,” the Sheriff grumbles back. He stares at Derek while Derek stares at the ground.

Derek sighs. “I can have the others come watch him instead. They have school, but the pack could each do one night a week, maybe.”

The Sheriff groans then straightens up and looks Derek in the eye. “Derek. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“Aren’t you on shift … sir?”

“I wish I didn’t know that you know that. Just, come in. I’d rather have this conversation inside, away from Mrs. Wilkins. Go ahead and grab yourself a drink while I call in the all-clear.”

Derek runs the tap and avoids listening in to the Sheriff’s explanation. He sets down glasses on the kitchen table for both of them.

“Thanks, son. I think we’re long overdue for a talk about you and all these teenagers.”

Derek tries to bury his fear, but the Sheriff is too like his son to buy it. 

Twenty long minutes later, both men can’t help but be guiltily relieved when Stiles screams and runs into the hall. They hear Stiles checking the Sheriff’s room before running down the stairs and skidding to a stop when he sees them sitting together in the kitchen.

“What? No. This is … _No_.” Stiles scrubs at his eyes. “Am I still in the nightmare?” He pinches Derek.

“Idiot,” Derek grumbles. “You’re supposed to pinch yourself.”

“Yeah, but I bruise like a peach.” Stiles’s grin is a bit unhinged.

“Boys!” the Sheriff interrupts. “Have a seat, Stiles. We were just talking about your role in the _pack_.”

“I’m not a werewolf, dad.”

“But you are in Derek’s gang of misfit teenagers. And we are going to talk about how you’re going to start letting them help you.”

Stiles stares at Derek. “I’m in the _pack_? Me? I’m _in_ the pack. Since when am I _in the pack_? _How_ am I … ? Really? Awesome! … But, really?”

Derek just rolls his eyes.

“I think you might need to use your words, son,” the Sheriff grumbles. “It seems like you two are letting a few too many things go unsaid.”

Stiles snorts then coughs to cover it up. “Sorry. I mean, yeah, we can totally have this awkward conversation together. All 3 of us. Can’t wait. And I’m sure Derek has a lot to say. Tons of words. Go for it, big guy.”

Derek just closes his eyes with a sigh and, as usual, waits for Stiles to fill the silence. Which he does. Derek makes it a full 10 minutes before interrupting mid-tirade to excuse himself to the bathroom. He wastes 3 or 4 minutes there blocking out the noise from the kitchen before flushing and running the faucet and then begrudgingly wading back in to the fray. The Stilinskis are just staring at each other silently, though. Derek turns to go back out, but Stiles snags his arm and drags him back in.

“Dad. I think you had something to say to Derek before he goes.”

The Sheriff huffs but follows through. “I want to thank you for doing your best to keep the kids safe. I know they don’t make it easy for you. I’m glad you all have each other’s backs. And I hope you know I’ll help any way that I can.”

“And …” Stiles prompts.

“ _And_ , thank you for helping them with their homework and helping Stiles get the sleep he needs.”

“But …” Stiles prods.

“But if you’re going to continue to watch over him, you need to do it from inside the house.” The Sheriff gets a gleam in his eye. “ _And_ Stiles will make sure you have a warm meal while you’re here.”

Stiles squawks but the Sheriff stares him down.

“Yeah, ok. That’s totally fair, Dad.”

The Sheriff continues to stare.

“Oh, um, and thanks. For … taking care of me or whatever. How do you feel about kale?”

Derek shrugs.

The Sheriff claps his hands. “Well, that’s about enough of that for today.”

Derek and Stiles both nod enthusiastically.

“Well, Derek, help yourself to the bookshelf or the tv. I’m headed back to work.”

“Be safe, dad!”

“Get some more rest, kid.”

“Goodnight, Sheriff.”

“Night, Derek.”

Stiles stares at the front door for a full minute after his dad leaves before turning to Derek and blinking rapidly. “That was … um …”

Derek just nods.

“I can’t believe you’ve been … But then again, you’ve always been a creeper,” Stiles laughs.

“Idiot.”

“Want some leftover, awful, gluten-free veggie lasagna?”

“Sure.”

“It’s less awful with hot sauce?”

“Ok, Stiles.”

***

Over the next two weeks, the nightmares taper off, as though just knowing Derek is there to watch over him sets Stiles’s mind at ease. Derek somehow ends up joining them for dinner about twice a week anyway. And sometimes when the Sheriff can’t be there, Derek even takes Stiles out to dinner.

Each time, Stiles tries to remind himself it’s not a date. Derek reminds himself of that, too. The Sheriff knows better.


End file.
